Of Monks and Demons
by Breeze of Summoners
Summary: One is a demon hybrid shunned by all kind. The other is a blue-skinned, red-haired monk who many shun as well. Their pasts are spookily similar; will the same hold for their future? Part Four Up (yep, finally)
1. Beginnings of Ends

Beginnings of Ends  
  
In a Treno bar, two events, at two different times, will unfold that will create two abominations.  
The first event, year 1744. Treno has yet to truly form the rich- poor barrier. The middle class, though shrinking, still exists, and runs the bar, which is not rundown, but rather nice, with a clean atmosphere. The poor will be kicked out if they cause trouble, and are kicked out even if all they do is smell. It doesn't matter if they may bring in profits, or gain some of their own.  
One man, age 37, upset at the loss of his wife, enters for a drink. Once done with that one, he gets another, and another, and yet another. He just keeps getting drinks. If he dies, it does not matter, for he brought in profit.  
Outside Treno, a hazy substance rises from the ground. The red haze forms a humane form, with black, tough skin that seems to be armor in itself. This being has a long, whip-like tail, with no "arrow" at the end, along with majestic wings. Horns on her head are one foot long each, and right above red, cat-like eyes. Her claws on humane hands are retractable and sharp, and her feet are webbed and clawed.  
The Demon Queen flies into the air, observing Treno from a distance. She cannot see why her master wants to find out more about this haunted town, yet she must. Using her power of illusion, the Demon Queen turns herself into a pretty, human lady. She walks into Treno and, by chance, enters the bar where the depressed man is drinking and quite intoxicated.  
The Demon Queen orders a drink, likes it, and gets another. The drunken man flirts with her. Being drunk herself, she only responds with similar flirts. The two leave, both very drunk.  
From there, things go very wrong, or at least for the demon.  
The man had a great time. The Demon Queen is distraught. She returns to the Demon Lord, to apologize for her stupidity, yet he won't take it. Her behavior was unacceptable and dangerous. If her behavior causes the Demon Queen to become pregnant, she could be carrying abominations. Yet these abominations could be useful. The Demon Lord banishes her from the underworld, telling her to return if she turns out not to be pregnant. If she is, she's to go along with it, give birth to the children, and raise them. If they could be helpful to the demons, she is to continue raising them. Any child not helpful is to be killed.  
The Demon Queen, upset and distraught, returns to Gaia's surface. She is angry, and wants to kill the man, but she knows it is not just his fault. She was dumb enough to get drunk. That was disgraceful enough, for demons barely ever got drunk. Upset, the Demon Queen headed over to Eoroqu, hoping that perhaps her actions did not cost her.  
They had. Nine months later, on Eoroqu, the Demon Queen gives birth to two children. Both helpless, she tries to kill them. One of them, she cannot injure with her claws. With the other, layers of skin protect it. Within a few hours, the one with layers of skin can move around, showing signs of demon growth spurts. The Queen decides to keep the children and care for them to the best of her ability until she can figure out which one is better. She cannot tell by looks. Both have black eyes, black hair, and pale skin. Both have two, abnormal bumps above their foreheads that should've become horns. One has an immunity to physical attacks, the other has six layers of skin.  
They are both abominations. The Demon Queen knows there can only be promise in one of them...  
  
Twenty-five years later, year 1769. A blue-skinned, massive monk, banned for his drinking problems, enters the pub, and only makes his drinking problems worse. A young woman with fiery red hair and an innocent nature enters the bar with a group of friends who convinced her to come. By now the bar is starting to show times that the middle-class is becoming poor. The bar smells more now, and the wood is rotting. It is managing to keep standing, but it is beginning to fall into disrepair.  
The innocent woman notices the monk, and he notices her. A quick hello sparks a conversation. The innocent woman likes how he is a monk. The monk simply likes how the woman looks. The woman does not realize the monk was banned for drinking. She only notices what she wants to notice, and that will cost her.  
Two months later, they get married. Five years later, they give birth to their first child. A child who has his father's blue skin and large size, yet his mother's fiery hair.  
  
Three children, yet we are only concerned with two. One will profit, the other two will not. One child will learn harm and hate, and abuse and tears. One child will learn hate and arguments, ignorance and poverty. Both will flee.  
Twenty years apart, yet things have not changed. Mistakes are still made. Children still come from them. Children still get harm from it.  
And though they don't know it, the two children, the two abominations, will meet in the oddest of ways...  
  
Of Monks and Demons 


	2. If Only to Forget

If Only to Forget  
  
= You learn to live with what you're fed... Not just with food, but with attitude, punishment, discipline... Whatever's fed to you, you take it with a high head, and then copy it unless you're either messed up, or smart. In my case, you got your own damn food because no one gave it to you. Your family was your tormenter. Punishment and discipline were the same thing – Smacks and bruises. I lived with it, but never dealt it back. I'm not smart, though. I'm just damn screwed up.  
  
-- Meander =  
  
Year 1749  
The sun pierced the horizon, lighting it up with an array of reds and pinks. Light filled the desert suddenly and abruptly, warming the cold ground. Not a cloud was in the sky as the sun slowly began to rise above the horizon. No mountains blocked its path. It was free to scorch the sands, and the young child who lied sleeping in them.  
The young, nameless child, who we shall call DemChi (short for Demon Child), stirred as he shifted in the sands. His eyelids flickered and soon lifted, revealing his black eyes to the unforgiving sun. He yawned lazily as he rose to a sitting position, stretching his stiff arms. He was only five years old, yet appeared to live alone.  
DemChi rose to his bird-like, skin-covered feet. He tapped the talons of these feet against the sand, then looked around, black eyes innocent. Eyes squinting from the bright light, he began to pad a little bit forward, seeming to look for something. He did not really watch what he was stepping on.  
Suddenly the child went tripping head over heals, soon landing roughly on a rock shoulder-first. One layer of skin was stripped clean off due to the fall, and his shoulder began to bleed ever so slightly. A sharp laugh filled the air and, whimpering, DemChi rose into a sitting position and tried to lick away the blood.  
Suddenly DemChi found himself rolling in the sand, the aftermath of a sharp kick. He snarled, a warning rather than a threat. It didn't work. Soon he was sprawled in the sand again, his chest throbbing. He soon saw his antagonist, but could not move quickly enough to avoid another kick to the chest. Something snapped, and DemChi cried out with pain. The cry became a snarl and the child dug his teeth into the oncoming foot from his brother, Julius. DemChi shook his head madly, ripping apart Julius' boot. Julius cursed madly as he punched DemChi in the face. DemChi released his grip, only to tackle his brother, growling madly.  
"Damn it, you monster!" Julius roared, his black eyes flashing angrily. The five-year-old easily threw DemChi off him, since DemChi was about 25 pounds lighter than he was.  
The underweight DemChi rose shakily to his feet, whimpering. Julius approached him slowly, a wicked grin on his pale, hairless face, a face that lacked eyebrows. DemChi snarled a warning, holding up feeble fists, but that only seemed to make Julius come more quickly. The next snarl DemChi emitted was threatening. Julius stopped walking and laughed bitterly.  
"You think I'm scared, you stupid freak? You can't even talk and you're trying to mock me?" Julius spat, speaking incredibly well for a five- year-old.  
DemChi growled, his spiked tail lashing angrily. Julius charged forward, but was soon howling with pain when DemChi sent his tail straight into Julius' face. Massive puncture wounds in Julius' face dripped blood, the wounds being there due to magical poison imbued in the spikes on DemChi's tail. Julius looked at DemChi angrily.  
"You bastard! MOM! The freak hurt me!" Julius roared, scrambling for DemChi.  
DemChi swung his tail outward again, causing Julius to back away. Growling, DemChi swung his tail again, keeping Julius at bay. Soon, however, he was sprawled out in the sand, four parallel cuts freshly ripped into his thigh. DemChi whimpered, staring up at none other than his mother, a Demon Queen. The black-skinned Demon Queen looked exhausted and angry. Julius soon rushed over to her.  
"Leave your brother alone!" The Demon Queen snarled in the demon language, one DemChi understood just as well as human tongue. The Demon Queen kicked DemChi in the already-bleeding thigh, sending the crying kid into a rock.  
Julius stuck his tongue out at DemChi. He and the Demon Queen then turned their backs on DemChi and headed toward a kill DemChi could see in the distance. Whimpering, with tears falling from his black eyes, DemChi crawled into a sitting position, only to yelp when sand got into his wounds. The slashes in his thigh were dripping blood freely, turning his grey, raggedy clothes red.  
DemChi staggered to his feet and headed in the direction of a small group of tents in the distance. He had gotten refuge in the small Dari Tribe many times before, that is, until he finally got kicked out for his strange looks and ways. Normally, he got a little bit of food and maybe a bit of medicine before he was kicked back toward his family from hell.  
After a great deal of crawling and whimpering, DemChi finally managed to find himself near the massive tents of the Dari. The leather tents fascinated him, particularly since he knew that they contained "rooms" inside. He also knew the tents could be folded up and put away, but today was not that type of day. The Dari were staying where they were, and not following herds. This was good for DemChi; it meant he could get food easier. Already the furred Dari were going about their normal business. They moved from one tent to another, chatting with each other pleasantly. Little children followed their parents, and sometimes gathered to play together. Most of the Dari did not notice DemChi crawling toward them. One, however, did. The female Dari looked over at DemChi. Her yellow eyes widened with shock. DemChi looked up at her with innocent eyes.  
"It's back," the Dari muttered softly, lifting one clawed, rat-like foot and scraping the sand nervously with it.  
Another Dari looked over at DemChi. A slight frown formed about his rat-like muzzle. Bat-like ears and rat nose twitching, he disappeared into a tent. He soon reappeared with a massive hunk of meat. DemChi licked his lips eagerly, then began to pant, revealing sharp fangs.  
"Will 'e bite again?" the female Dari asked nervously involuntarily rubbing an arm that DemChi did not remember biting.  
"Hopefully not," The Dari with the meat replied.  
DemChi scrambled over to the meat and sniffed it carefully. It was still raw and uncooked. He looked up at the Dari nervously, as if afraid it may be snatched away from him. The Dari dropped it at DemChi's feet, and DemChi took it in his thin hands eagerly.  
"See? Just don' try ta take it back," the male Dari told the female.  
"'E seems wild," the female muttered.  
"And 'e's 'urt," The male replied. "Again. I'm goin' ta go get 'im a potion."  
DemChi watched the male Dari leave. Quickly he began to eat the meat, afraid that someone may try to take it from him. Noting that he was eating so fast he may choke, the female approached carefully.  
"Don' eat so—"The female began.  
DemChi snarled warningly, backing away with the meat. Yelping with surprise, the female leapt backward. DemChi, seeming satisfied, resumed eating. The other Dari watched the situation with confusion, some with disgust. Most did not interfere, particularly when the male Dari came through with a potion. Slowly the male approached, causing DemChi to growl.  
"'Ush, I 'ave somethin' for ya," the male said, holding out a potion. "Drink this. It'll 'elp ya... I know ya understand. Come on."  
DemChi looked at the potion nervously, then up at the Dari. He put down the meat, then slowly crawled over to the potion. He quickly snatched it and ran back over to the unfinished meat. He resumed eating the meat, yet kept the potion nearby protectively. The male Dari nodded slightly in approval, but many of the other Dari looked disgusted.  
"E's such an abomination. Why do ya 'elp such an abomination?" one Dari spat. "'E's ugly, 'e's stupid, and 'e's dangerous. I say we kill 'im."  
DemChi whimpered, understanding these hurtful words. Upset, and no longer thinking, he saw the many people agreeing and nodding their heads. He looked down at the quarter of meat left. He looked down at the potion. Then, with a wail, he ran away, not noting the male Dari talking.  
He ran away from the tents, tears in his eyes. In his mind, the simplest thing registered, yet probably the most truthful. Everyone hated him. He didn't understand why, but everyone seemed to hate him and hurt him.  
The Demon Queen and Julius came into sight, both eating a fallen animal that the Demon Queen had managed to catch. DemChi approached carefully, whimpering. Julius picked up a rock, aimed, and threw it at DemChi. Unable to dodge in time, DemChi was hit in the forehead. With a pained snarl, the child curled into a ball, shaking. The Demon Queen didn't say anything, simply chuckled and kept on eating.  
DemChi looked up, wondering what was next. But he didn't see a rock, or a punch. He instead saw Julius' proud smirk, the smirk of victory. The smirk Julius wore showed that the child was glad he had hurt DemChi. He was happy to cause pain and to hurt.  
With another whimper, DemChi curled up into a ball, hoping to catch a few minutes sleep before Julius came back for more "play".  
  
= There are two families in the world: broken and together. Treno consists of all broken and no together. You get the fools who meet in the run-down bar, get together, have a kid, and THEN realize that they're not perfect for each other. 50% of the time the two were drunk when they met, and kept getting drink. Or, in my case, the guy was always drunk and the girl was too stupid to realize it. So then I get into the picture. And THEN they realize they aren't compatible, but have to stay together for me.  
  
Goody.  
  
-- Amarant = Year 1781  
The light in the room was dim, barely able to light the room. A single lantern, containing a half-used candle, lied on a small, wooden table near an old bed that had no billow, but one dirty, white sheet. The lantern cast spooky shadows on the dreary, rotting wooden walls. The floor was dirty as well, and also beginning to rot. The whole room smelled badly. Cobwebs covered the ceiling. A dusty bookshelf, full of books, lied at the very end of the room. One book was missing, a book about monks and training.  
Salamander Coral was reading it. The seven-year-old was lying on the old bed, propping himself up with his elbows so he could read the old book. He didn't notice the smell of the room, mainly because he was so used to it. His dark eyes were glued to the book. His curly red hair was managing to keep out of his face.  
Absorbed in his book, Salamander didn't notice the growling of his stomach, nor the stench of the room. He read about the techniques of noble monks, like his father – Or so he thought. A light, interested smile coming over the child's face, Salamander reread the sentence he had recently read.  
Putting a piece of old fabric on the page he was on, Salamander closed the book. He swung out of the bed, then looked around for a target. He soon saw the old vase that his mother kept forgetting to sell. Brightening that he had found a target, Salamander walked eagerly over the vase. He then paused, remembering how his mother had told him not to break it no matter what.  
Then he remembered that his father always broke everything anyway, so it shouldn't matter.  
Suddenly Salamander's leg swung out, delivering a sharp kick to the vase. The vase shattered and went soaring off the table. The broken pieces were soon strewn across the dirty floor. Salamander watched with surprise as the remains of the pieces landed in various places. He looked down at his leg, amazed that he could contain that much power in one kick. Eager to read more, the large child dashed back over to the bed, jumped on it, then threw the book back open and resumed reading.  
It was hard for most to believe that Salamander had originally not wanted to be a monk. He had wanted to be a fighter, yes, but more along the lines of a knight. He wanted to travel to Alexandria and join the Knights of Pluto, but his father had quickly rejected his wish. He instead dragged his child to the group of monks that lived in the mountains near Treno. Quickly accepted as a good student despite his father's failure, Salamander soon was learning the ways of a noble monk.  
Now that he was used to it, Salamander was eager to learn how to chop wood in half with his hands, and how to use Chakra and the many other techniques. He read so much to learn how to do it. In fact, he was ahead of most children learning at his age. Master Tumis was impressed with the child's work, and it made Salamander beam with pride. He was happy when at monk training, and happy when home alone.  
He wasn't happy when his parents were home.  
Suddenly, just as Salamander was trying to flip the page of the book, the whole house shook, sending his book flying out the bed. Muttering angrily about having lost his spot, Salamander moved to pick up the book, but the whole house shook again. Sawdust fell from the ceiling, getting into Salamander's hair. Salamander could hear screaming upstairs.  
"Not again," Salamander muttered bitterly.  
Quickly Salamander grabbed the book and shoved it under the bed. He looked over at the broken vase with a panic, and dashed to pick up the pieces and hide them. Upstairs, the yelling continued, and something crashed against the kitchen floor.  
Salamander knew it was only a matter of time before someone came downstairs, looking for him, and any reason to yell at him.  
Salamander shoved the broken vase pieces under the bed just as the yelling abruptly stopped. A door slammed, and Salamander knew it to be the front door. Rising slowly to his feet, Salamander listened for sudden sounds. That was when he heard footsteps coming roughly down the stairs.  
"What are you doing?" a drunk, male voice gurgled.  
Salamander slowly turned around to find himself face-to-face with his father. His father's eyes were bloodshot, and Salamander could smell the beer on his breath. Salamander moved to back away, but his father grabbed his arm and prevented it.  
"Aren't you supposed to be – Is that your mother's?!"  
Salamander looked up at his father to see that he wasn't looking at him. Slowly he turned to see what his father was looking at. Salamander's heart immediately sank. His father was staring at one broken vase piece that Salamander had missed.  
"You broke your mother's vase?!" Salamander's father roared, shoving Salamander backwards.  
Salamander fell roughly to the ground. He looked up, met his father's gaze, and shouted, "It was an accident, I swear!"  
"You're a poor liar," his father growled, approaching. "That vase was given to your mother by her own! It was a gift for her marriage! How dare you break it!"  
"She planned on selling it anyway! What's the point?!" Salamander screamed angrily, rising to his feet.  
A quick smack across the face was the response Salamander received. Salamander looked up at his father, only to see his father making a fist. Salamander dodged the oncoming punch, then swung outward and gave his father a kick. His father crumbled to the floor, but grabbed Salamander's leg when he tried to run. Salamander fell roughly to the floor.  
"GET OFF ME!" Salamander screamed angrily, considering biting his father.  
"First you break your mother's vase, then you dare bad-mouth me? You're asking to be kicked out, boy!" Salamander's father growled, his voice garbled from the beer.  
"You're the one who has to go out and drink all the time!" Salamander snarled. "Maybe if you didn't drink so much, Mother wouldn't've considered selling the vase, and I wouldn't have to bad-mouth you!"  
Salamander's father's eyes narrowed angrily. "How dare you assume what I have been doing!"  
"Assume?! I know it! Mother always wails about it! Now get off ME!" Salamander snarled.  
"You need a good punishing – DAMN IT!"  
Salamander's father's speech was abruptly cut off when Salamander bit his hand. Releasing Salamander instinctively, Salamander's father snarled with pain and rage as Salamander scrambled to his feet. Salamander rushed by his drunken father, grabbed the large book out from under the bed, then dashed up the creaking, old wooden stairs. He soon entered the smelly kitchen to find it in disarray. Broken dishes were strewn across the floor, and the chairs at the table had been knocked over. A small chunk of the table was completely missing, and in crumpled pieces on the floor. Some blood was splattered on the floor. Part of the floor was sunken in, and the front door was hanging off one hinge.  
Hearing his father stumbling on the stairs, Salamander dashed for the front door and shoved it open. The door fell off the final hinge from the force, and fell to the ground, sending Salamander with it. Salamander slammed into the stone street. Quickly scrambling to his feet, Salamander ignored his father's drunken garble. He simply dashed down the street, clutching the large book in his large hands.  
Salamander didn't know how many minutes passed before he finally stopped running. Panting, he looked over the edge of the street, and found himself staring at the waters below. He looked up, and found himself near what he called the shop with the beast. No one walked the streets except for guards and a few drunkards. Salamander's father was no where in sight, nor was his mother.  
Staring down at the water, Salamander sat down next to the railing. He wiped at the stray tears in his eyes. He refused to admit that he was crying. Monks didn't cry, or at least he didn't see any of them cry. Therefore, he assumed they didn't, and he assumed that to be a monk, he couldn't cry either.  
Salamander examined the cover of the book. There were no pictures, merely golden words printed neatly in hand against a black background. The Glory of Monks. That was the name of the book. It showed all the techniques, the glory, the happiness... It was Salamander's escape from reality. It was his prized possession, even though it was actually his father's, not his. Yet his father hadn't looked at any of the books downstairs in years, or so Salamander's mother also moaned.  
Carefully Salamander opened the book to a random page. The words "Self-defense for Beginning Monks" graced the top. Salamander smiled slightly at the irony. Just when he needed self-defense, the book flipped to it. Taking a deep breath, Salamander moved into a more comfortable position, making sure he was directly under the light of a glowing, well- maintained lantern hanging right above him.  
Lifting his head one last time, Salamander made sure that he was truly alone. The night was quiet, except for the burble of voices Salamander could hear coming from the bar. He wondered grimly if his father had returned there, or if he had spent all the money again. Or perhaps his mother went there? Salamander didn't know, and he knew that he didn't care either.  
Instead, he lowered his head back to The Glory of Monks, and began to read.  
  
------- Here's my latest little experiment... Working with Amarant and Meander, the most cynical people of all time! Woo hoo. Anyway, I apologize if at times I may get OOC with Amarant... He's rather tricky to keep IC (at least for me). As for Meander... He's my creation, so if I get OOC with him, I have a problem OO Anyway, so that's all I have to say for now. Please tell me what you think (AKA: Comments, questions, suggestions)!  
  
This story is copyright to me. Some characters, locations, and Gaia in general are copyright to SquareEnix. 


	3. Watch Them Form

Watch Them Form  
  
= I've seen, over the years, many people who are victorious and act as if it was to happen, and that they are not privileged and blessed to have succeeded. I see those who do not seem impressed, but know it could've been some luck. No one seems to appreciate what victory really is. When I actually succeeded in something, I acted like it was a miracle, a wonder - And I was always shocked. It seems that you not only have to suffer to write. You have to suffer to God-damn grow up.  
  
-- Meander =  
  
Year 1751  
It was Christmas, though you could not tell in the desert. For the desert, it looked like another day, if a little colder. The sun was not as high in the sky as usual, though it still managed to warm the desert considerably. The day was not a scorcher, but rather pleasant, if dry. In the Dari Tribe, celebrations were being held, with gifts being passed out and many feasts being eaten. Everyone was cheery, their happiness seeming addicting.  
For DemChi, it was not addicting. The seven-year-old hybrid was sitting in the sands only about a half-mile away. His clothes were silk, and a pretty red in color, yet these expensive clothes were beginning to tear. They were technically not DemChi's; he had stolen them. He had considered stealing some food from the Christmas Feast, but he knew he would not accomplish such. The Dari were sick of him. They mostly kicked him out now. No one wanted him around. DemChi didn't want them around, either.  
Fresh blood clots dotted DemChi's two, feeble hands. One finger was at an odd angle and clearly broken. His nails were dirty, most were broken, and one was missing. Blood long turned black covered the place where the nail had once been. Puffy, black and purple skin covered DemChi's left eye. A massive purple and blue bruise lay on his right cheek. His upper lip was puffy. His black hair was dirty, and in some places torn. His neck contained a half-necklace of bruises. Beneath his red, tearing shirt were massive bruises on his chest, and a broken rib. Bruises on his stomach added to the damage. On his legs, beneath the red pants, were long cuts created by claws. Bruises and scrapes joined the cuts. His tail was the only thing untouched by abuse; instead, the white spikes glistened with poison.  
Behind him, DemChi heard someone approaching. He snorted angrily, while his tail began to twitch. He wished everyone would leave him alone; he was sick of the world, and wished he could just watch it and live in peace. Yet his brother wasn't going to allow it, particularly on this day, a day so sacred to humans.  
"Hey, Freak!" Julius called in the mortal tongue. "I have something for you!"  
"Bring to someone who care," DemChi replied in the demon tongue. His voice was rough and throaty, and his language was poorly constructed.  
"But you'll like it! Don't you want a Christmas present?" Julius asked, clearly continuing to approach. He still spoke in the mortal tongue, as he normally did.  
"No. Demons no celebrate Christmas. Go away," DemChi snarled, refusing to turn around. He always spoke in the demon tongue.  
"Don't you trust me?" Julius asked, his ominous voice becoming louder, and his footsteps more distinct.  
"No. Why would I? You only hurt," DemChi snarled, his tail lashing.  
"Just turn around, Freak," Julius growled, clearly getting angry.  
"No. If you want to give, then give to someone else and go away," DemChi growled.  
"All right, then. I guess I'll just have to give it to you from the back!"  
DemChi heard Julius run forward, and he rolled out of the way. He rose to his feet, only to get tackled roughly to the ground. Sharp claws that normally were retracted were clearly visible on Julius' fingers. A cruel smirk was on Julius' face, and DemChi considered spitting on it.  
"I thought you could use a new look," Julius spat, bringing his claws uncomfortably close to DemChi's face. "How about a face lift?"  
"Get off me... now," DemChi snarled, lifting his legs.  
Julius slashed his claws across DemChi's face. DemChi snarled with anger, lifted his hand, and punched Julius in the face. Julius did not seem affected, but he did react when DemChi slammed his claws into Julius' lower back. Julius snarled with pain, and moved to slash DemChi in the face again, but DemChi caught his wrist. The struggle did not last long, however. DemChi's strength was much lower than Julius' was, and soon, Julius had regained control of his wrist. He used this control, however, to tear himself away from DemChi's claws. DemChi rolled to his feet, licking away the blood trickling near his mouth. Blood still lingered on his cheeks and right below his eyes, while the cuts caused by Julius' claws still bled freely.  
While Julius rose to his feet, DemChi looked around to make sure their mother had not arrived. Seeing her no where in sight, DemChi faced Julius angrily. He charged forward, then swung his tail about when Julius moved to strike. The spiked tail struck Julius in the lower legs, ripping bloody tears in his legs. Julius yelped with surprise and pain, staggering and falling to his knees. He stared at DemChi angrily, yet DemChi was already swinging his tail about again. Julius crouched down, managing to scrape his hands, rather than his head, against the spikes on DemChi's tail.  
"Damn it, stop it!" Julius yelped when DemChi's tail yet again scraped his hands. "Stop it! You trying to kill me?"  
"Why not? You try," DemChi spat.  
"Damn it, it's just a game!" Julius growled. He tried to rise, but quickly had to curl up in a ball again when DemChi's tail passed over him.  
"No game. Life or death. Leave me alone," DemChi replied. He spat on Julius before turned about and heading away from Julius.  
He didn't get far. An angry hiss pierced the air. DemChi felt a swoop of air before he was rammed into the ground, deep slashes in his thigh. Looking to the sky, DemChi saw his mother, the Demon Queen, hovering above, her red eyes flashing angrily. The Demon Queen looked aged far beyond her years, yet her strength was clearly still there. Flapping her massive wings steadily, the Demon Queen lashed out one of her powerful legs. Her powerful, webbed foot connected with DemChi's chest as the child tried to rise, and DemChi was sent tumbling backward.  
"You are to leave Julius alone," the Demon Queen hissed in demon.  
"He got me first," DemChi snarled, rising to his feet painfully.  
Suddenly, the Demon Queen soared downward and grabbed DemChi by the throat using both hands. DemChi let out a choked snarl while the Demon Queen flew upward. DemChi could see Julius watching with a massive smirk on his face.  
"You are not to talk back. You are to listen, and you are to leave Julius and I alone! Do you hear me?" the Demon Queen snarled, shaking DemChi roughly.  
DemChi groaned, feeling sick from the shaking. His neck hurt horribly. The Demon Queen soon shook him again, this time harder. DemChi let out a choked snarl.  
"All... Right," DemChi choked out.  
The Demon Queen threw DemChi across the desert, sending him flying into the sands. The child rolled into a rock, and lied still, his breaths coming out in quick gasps. Julius laughed while he rose to his feet. The Demon Queen, on the other hand, snorted bitterly and flew back toward Julius. The two left together while DemChi lied on the ground, staring ahead with fading vision.  
An hour passed before DemChi found the strength to rise into a sitting position. After looking around weakly, he found himself to be alone once more. Instead of whimpering or crying, he sighed with great relief. He leaned weakly against the rock, staring at the sky above him. A light smile graced his swollen lips while he wiped at the blood on his face. His palm came up completely red from the blood. Casually DemChi wiped the blood off on his red clothing. He ignored the bleeding of his thigh, being used to it. The pain was also ignored since he was used to it. The only thing not ignored was his anger, something he had felt plenty of times. He instead fed it images in his mind of what he would like to do to the people in the world. He replayed his tortures in his mind, except they were on the world. He replayed tortures of his own design onto the world. He sighed happily, staring at the sky, wishing that he could stay alone forever. If he could, DemChi would be happier. If only everyone would leave him alone, DemChi would be in heaven.  
Yes... If only his family did not exist.  
  
= Christmas for many people is a time of gifts, joy, eating, and family get- togethers. For a while, I thought similar things. Christmas was the only time that my family was actually a peaceful place to be. My parents got along fine, for once, and on really good Christmases, my father didn't drink. But as I got older, I realized that it was a fantasy they had made to try to make at least part of my life peaceful. But it didn't make it peaceful. It made me bloody worse.  
  
-- Amarant =  
  
Year 1783 Snow blanketed Treno on Christmas day, and it would stay there until March finally came. Snow fell slowly from the forever-dark sky and onto old, creaking wooden houses. The snow leaked into the roofs of the poor, and decorated the roofs of the rich. The middle-class was just about non- existent. They were now joining the poor as prices skyrocketed and ignorance continued.  
Three inches of water covered the floor of one particularly run-down house. It was poorly constructed, even for the poor. It looked as if a few people just slapped together some wood and didn't bother trying to give it supports. It was a run-down shack. There was now only one floor, and only three rooms, with very little room to run away from events. Even the poor turned their noses at the house, muttering about how horribly the family functioned, and how terrible the father was.  
Yet despite these conditions, cheery laughter from two people bubbled from the run-down, cramped kitchen. It was easily heard from the small, leaky bedroom. In one of these rooms, the water accumulation was no worse or better than in the kitchen. A run-down, half-collapsed bookshelf took up most of the room. There were two beds, one large, one small. Both were covered in filthy sheets. Clothes were strewn across the room, and cobwebs decorated the ceiling. The room smelled of mold, and mildew made a home on the walls.  
Salamander ignored it all. He flicked away a spider or two while lying on his stomach on the smaller bed. His dark eyes were focused on the book before him, yet he was not reading about monks. He was reading about a paradise supposedly hidden underground. It was said the sun always shined, that no one went poor, and that everyone was happy. Salamander had once hoped to find the land, but now he knew it couldn't exist. Nothing that happy could exist.  
The laughter bubbling from the kitchen was beginning to annoy Salamander, and the footsteps coming toward him were ominous. He had tried to explain to his family many times that he wanted nothing to do with Christmas with them, but his parents didn't seem to get the hint.  
"Come, Salamander, have some dinner," Salamander's father cheerily called from behind Salamander.  
The man's voice was, for once, not clogged with beer. It sounded clear, and happy. It made Salamander sick, sicker than the drunken voice made him. Salamander groaned and ignored his father to the best of his ability, flipping a yellow page on the book he was reading. He heard his father snort.  
"Come, you'll starve. Don't you wish to have some fun?" his father asked.  
Salamander ignored him again. He was no longer reading the book; now, he was just flipping the yellow pages. His father's words filtered through his mind, unheard and not cared about. His father's annoyed intake a breath seemed to confirm his father's knowledge of Salamander's attitude.  
"Come, now. It's no fun without-"his father began.  
"It's all a lie," Salamander spat.  
"What do you mean?" his father asked.  
He hadn't moved. His father had stayed in the doorway. Salamander knew because he hadn't heard footsteps. The nine-year-old closed the book, knowing what he wanted to say to his father, but not knowing if it was safe. His father sighed again, clearly annoyed, and Salamander understood that if he didn't speak, he'd be in deep trouble.  
"This happy Christmas. It's a lie, an illusion," Salamander spat, sitting up and getting off the bed.  
"Why do you say that?" his father asked.  
Salamander looked over at his father, observed his father's unkempt appearance. The dirt on his face, the sullen, tired look he could see behind the fake cheer in his eyes, the raggedy clothes, and the thinness were always easy to see and hated. Salamander turned his gaze to the window without glass that was near his bed.  
"Tomorrow you will go out and drink again. You and Mother will fight again. You still hate each other. You're still a drunkard. It's not any different. You're just trying to trick me into thinking everything may change," Salamander spat, staring outside.  
Salamander heard his father take an angry intake of breath. He knew his father's eyes were alit with anger. He felt the footsteps as his father stepped forward, and there was no way he couldn't feel the powerful smack. Salamander staggered backward, his cheek tingling. Then, he rushed forward, and plowed his own fist straight into his own father's cheek. His father went soaring backward and into a wall. The whole house shook, while his father stared at Salamander with shock.  
"You-"his father began.  
He was too late. Salamander forced himself through the window. The foundation of the window cracked and splintered from the force. Landing in a pile of snow, Salamander rose to his feet and began sullenly walking down the street, staring at the snow. Behind him, he could hear his father shouting angrily. Salamander shook his head; he had been right. It was all just a lie, and that lie had just been shattered.  
Smacking was a normal activity for Salamander, so hitting his father seemed no different. His father hit him and his mother all the time, so Salamander had learned to hit if you wanted something. The monks didn't approve of it much. Salamander was often scolded and punished by the monks in the mountains. They threatened to kick him out of class various times for fighting with other monks. Each time, they would mutter under their breath about how he would turn out just like his father. Hearing such things only made Salamander angrier, and more violent. He had learned that little was wrong with violence, and such things were threatening to get him kicked out of monk class.  
Once, he would have cried. Now, he didn't care. He'd prefer no longer being stuck up in the mountains with the strict monks who always muttered about him being like his father.  
A distinct change in scenery had come for Salamander. He was still walking the Treno streets, but you couldn't tell. Now, the streets were well paved. Lanterns lit up the cold, endless darkness. The laughter was more clear; it came from the many glamorous palaces, mansions, and estates that Salamander now found surrounding him. A small, outdoor café was open, and many people had gathered for an expensive Christmas dinner. They were wearing silk dresses and suits, and fancy hats with feathers. Pleasant chatter bubbled from the café. Salamander leaned against the wall of a nearby building and watched the café calmly, listening to the bubble of words that reached him.  
"... Such a pleasant vase I got today, only 50000 Gil..." These words came from an older woman, fully clad in a deep violet, layered, silk dress, complete with many expensive jewels at the sleeves and bottom. Draped around her shoulders was a gorgeous fur coat, clearly coming from a snow leopard, an animal only residing on Eoroqu, which Salamander knew as the Demi Continent. She wore an expensive opal necklace, and her brown, greying hair was bound up in a bun. She was fanning herself casually with a black fan.  
"... Where is that food? I'm starving..." This comment came from a massive, overweight man. He wore a fancy outfit consisting of many layers of clothing. Most of the clothes were made of cotton, except for the white fur coat he wore, clearly coming from a Yeti. He also wore a shimmering cape of dragon scales, and a fancy hat with a phoenix feather. At his side was a cane made out of imported wood, and the tip covered in velvet. The man had to be at least 300 pounds, probably more, in weight.  
"... Did you see that poor snob walking by earlier? With that rotted cane and those horrible clothes... Wish they would just go kill themselves and not plague our streets." This comment flowed from the mouth of a young woman no older than 24. Her dress, made of pure velvet, was a rich violet in color, and her hat held feathers from a Red Dragon's wings. A pearl, probably over a million in value, was tied around her neck. With her was a purse, made of animal skin, and decorated with tails of an arctic fox, another animal only known to be in Eoroqu, and the highest reaches of the Mist Continent.  
"Well, ye'd better not turn 'round, miss. There's one right behind ye."  
Salamander shot dark, angry eyes at the young waiter who spoke to the woman in purple. The woman, who had been speaking to her husband, whirled around and soon focused her green eyes on Salamander, who stared coldly in return. The woman gasped, seeming more angry rather than horrified. The rest of the café turned around to see what was wrong. Soon, all eyes were focused on Salamander.  
Most people simply muttered, shook their heads with disgust, and turned back to their conversations. Two tables, one of them containing the woman in purple, continued to stare with extreme loathe. Salamander returned their harsh glares.  
"Look at that fleabag. Plaguing up our streets with his filth," the woman in purple spat.  
"I'm just standing here, lady," Salamander growled.  
"How dare you speak to me!" the woman gasped, holding up a pink fan involuntarily.  
"Would you like me to come closer, too?" Salamander asked, rising to his full height.  
The woman shook her head, her face contorted with disgust. "Oh, don't bother. Your looks are horrid enough; your smell must be worse."  
A few mutters of agreement came from the group. Salamander spat at the ground, and the woman gasped again, now nearly shaking with rage.  
"H-How dare you plague the streets with t-that!" the woman managed to blurt. "Someone, kick him out."  
"No need, lady. I'm leaving on my own free will," Salamander spat.  
He decided, however, to leave in the direction the café was. The large nine-year-old - already five feet, six inches, and not even full grown, not to mention already bulky - waltzed right by the café. The rich people gasped and scraped their chairs away. The workers of the café shouted curses. The woman in purple looked out to faint, then grabbed a cup of hot tea and tossed it at Salamander. The teacup shattered on his shoulder, and the hot tea dripped down his back. Salamander ignored the burning liquid, knowing the rich woman would rather have him respond. He heard her "harumph" when he ignored her, and soon the café was behind him. Instead, coming toward Salamander, was the Card Arena.  
It was here that Salamander took the time to brush off some of the hot tea, muttering angrily. He remembered some of the words the rich had spoken. A vase, only 50000 Gil? Salamander's mother said vases once only cost 50 Gil. How could that woman act like the amount of money being demanded was no big deal? Then, the man demanding food, saying he was starving. The man was so fat, Salamander wondered if he'd fit in doorways. He wasn't starving in the least; Salamander had seen starving people right in his own neighborhood. How dare the fat man call himself starved! Then that woman in the purple. Did she have no sympathy for the poor? The poor old man she talked of... Salamander had seen him around. The old man not only had a cane and barely any clothes, he was also blind. She wanted him to die? Heartless, not to mention the way she treated Salamander. Salamander felt like dirt, but it was a normal feeling of the poor living in Treno.  
The Card Arena was closed, thankfully, and Salamander knew he wouldn't have to deal with more comments. His rumbling stomach reminded him of his hunger, however. Salamander turned his gaze toward the café. Should he really? If he were caught, he'd definitely be brought to jail without a second thought. The monks often talked of jail like it was, well, prison. Salamander had heard rumors that any poor people who went to jail were forgotten and left to rot.  
Somehow, taking that chance just didn't approve to Salamander. Sighing, he decided that he had only two possible choices. He could either try to get food from his rich "friend", who was really just around so Salamander could afford monk school, or he could go home and have some of the Fang's Head that was probably brought home.  
Fang's Head didn't sound appetizing, nor did dealing with family. Salamander voted for rich food. Quickly, he headed toward the rich neighborhood. He knew exactly which house to head to, and exactly how to get food. It was a simple trick that Salamander had learned a while ago.  
Soon, the rich neighborhood, with its decorative, perfect-condition mansions and estates, came into view. Laughter bubbled from many houses, as did the chimes and melodies of musical instruments. Many scents of tasty food came to Salamander, yet he didn't head for any doors. He instead slipped into a few decorative bushes. He crawled through the bushes, and soon saw his friend's house. The massive, three-story estate was made of smooth stone, with mahogany doors, various decorative columns, and glass windows. Outside, in the small yard, a massive dog patrolled about, sniffing the ground, as if searching for food. Salamander took a deep breath.  
He then let out a very realistic dog-like bark. The massive dog's ears pricked when Salamander repeated the sound. The dog then began barking madly in Salamander's direction.  
"Oh, shaddup, you stupid mutt!" a shout came from the house.  
Someone opened the door leading out into the backyard, and a huge slab of meat was tossed outward. The dog quickly saw it, but Salamander was quicker. He launched himself into the air, and grabbed the thick slab of ham. Then, he dashed about and leapt over the bushes, the dog in pursuit.  
"Momma, there's a massive dog outside!" someone called.  
Salamander restrained from laughing. They though he was a dog! Still amused, Salamander whirled around and gave the dog chasing him a massive kick in the chest. The dog yelped, whined, and then ran back to its yard, its tail between its legs and ears drooping. Sighing, Salamander continued down the street at a slower pace, examining the ham in his hand. It was cooked with honey, judging by the scent, and fresh. Delighted, Salamander began to gobble it down quickly and hungrily, heading back toward the poor neighborhood.  
By the time he was nearing the neighborhood, the massive slab of ham had already been devoured. Salamander looked around the gloomy neighborhood, staring at the run-down houses, and hearing the laughter from the bar nearby. He listened carefully, and quickly heard his father's voice within the bar. Salamander sighed, shaking his head.  
Yes, the lie had been broken. Now, Christmas would be normal, at least for Salamander's family. It would be broken, argumentative, and full of beer.  
Not wanting to deal with home, Salamander turned around and headed back toward the right neighborhood. Perhaps he could trick another family and dog into getting some more meat...  
  
--------- Yeshem, here are your updates! Actually, I've had this chapter done for a while now, but I was too lazy to put it up O.o Oh well. Enjoy.  
  
This story is copyright to me. Some characters, locations, events, and Gaia in general are copyright to SquareEnix. 


	4. On Our Own

**On Our Own**

-- Watching people grow up relying on each other is like reliving some type of never felt nightmare. Whenever a damn problem comes up people look to others, not wanting to solve it themselves. That cycle just keeps spinning around and around, going from one person to the next in hopes that someone will solve the problem for them, since they are too lazy to do it themselves. Perhaps if they were tossed out of society and hated, they would realize that, hey, relying on people can really God-damn suck. It's always better to rely on yourself... You can't run away from yourself. And if you do, you're dead.

-- Meander --

Year 1754

The desert's once peaceful face was disrupted, its once lone features now showing signs of travel and fighting. Claw marks, bloodstains, and disturbed sands showed signs of new movement. For in Eoroqu, an unusual population of demons had sprung up. This unusual population caused Eoroqu to take off its illusion spells, and allowed fighters -- demon exterminators -- to come in and get rid of the nuisances. The Dari were no exception, now housing powerful warriors: Burmecians. Regardless of how strange a desert was to them, compared to their home -- Burmecia, the Realm of Eternal Rain, the Lore Desert kept them at peace, particularly since demons were abundant on the desert landscape. Many a Burmecian was gaining strength and money by exterminating them.

But DemChi's life had not been disturbed. It was still as miserable as before. Julius still bullied him, his mother still didn't care, and still no one wanted him. And for some reason, it was bothering him that day. He didn't know why. Most of his emotions he didn't understand. As Julius loved to point out, they were so abnormal, changing so often even DemChi -- the owner of these emotions -- couldn't keep track. It upset him, and his moods seemed to fly about even more. Julius bullied him more often because of it, and DemChi felt even more foreign to the world. He knew not that his unpredictable moods were a cause of mental disturbance -- mental disturbance that could have been further disrupted by Julius. DemChi only knew that was he was weird in that sense.

The ten-year-old sighed heavily as he stretched in a cat-like way, before rising onto his bird-like feet. He was still skinny, still beat up, still wearing stolen clothes that were never clean or mended. His hair had uneven ends from being pulled and torn apart, his black eyes were sullen and bloodshot, and nothing seemed in between his bones and skin. He was a miserable-looking creature, and he felt just as miserable as he looked.

Julius snickered, watching DemChi from a distance. DemChi heard the snicker, however, and soon he and his brother were staring into each other's black eyes. DemChi let out a demon hiss, demanding solitude. Julius only laughed and leapt off the rock he had been resting upon.

"Freak," he spat. "You don't seem to see what's going on around here, do you?"

"Why I care?" DemChi asked miserably.

"Nice rat armies are marching around the desert. They're after demons," Julius explained, walking toward DemChi, who walked backward. "The rats are getting paid for all this. You're in danger. Isn't that great?"

"You are too," DemChi spat.

Julius laughed. "I look nothing like a demon."

"Mother, then."

"She'll be fine," Julius growled. "After all, she's not a slimy little freak like you."

"You right. She dry and huge."

Julius' black eyes narrowed as he rushed forward and tackled DemChi to the ground. DemChi snarled angrily, suddenly angry within a few seconds. His tail lashed out, nailing Julius in the legs. Soon, both hybrids were on the ground, punching and kicking at each other like barbarians. DemChi had a disadvantage from the start, but he did manage to give Julius a few cuts using his tail before he found himself being overpowered. Punches, curses, and kicks rained on the ten-year-old, who tried to curl into a ball to hide, but Julius was too strong. DemChi knew he was at a loss once again.

Then, suddenly, the fight was stopped short when a demon cry filled the air. It was awfully familiar, though the tone was not. This demon cry always seemed so full of power and threat, but this time, the cry was full of panic and pain. Immediately Julius rose to his feet, black eyes wide with horror. He made a dash in the direction of the pained demon cry. DemChi, not knowing what else to do, stumbled after his brother. Another demon cry sounded, this one also full of extreme pain.

Stumbling over a sand dune, DemChi felt a rush of wind. He then yelped with pain as he was sent hurtling backward. When he opened his eyes, he saw a cylinder of wood sticking out of his thigh. Growling, he forced it out, only to find a sharp, metal spike at the end, dripping with red blood. Fangs bared, he rose to his feet, throwing aside the spear as he dashed up the sand dune.

He was met with chaos. Below was his mother, the Demon Queen, with various scratches, cuts, and gashes on her body. None spewed blood, but all spewed demonic energy. Her wings were tattered, and it was obvious the Queen couldn't fly. Part of her tail appeared to be missing, though the rest of it lashed about angrily. One of her horns was broken, and one of her eyes was punctured. A few feet away, Julius was sprawled out on the ground, a massive gash in this thigh. The gash was dripping blood, and no doubt caused by some magical ability. Five other beings were below, and they looked very similar to Dari. But DemChi knew they couldn't be Dari. They were too tall, while their fur was too white. Two of them had black hair, while the other three had brown hair, though of different shades. The ones with black hair both had blue eyes, while two of the ones with brown hair had brown eyes. One of them had hazel eyes. All of them were males, and all of them had weapons, mostly lances, though the hazel-eyed being held a sword. They looked very similar to Dari, but DemChi had seen Dari enough to know that these weren't Dari.

What he didn't know was that they were Burmecians, foreigners to Eoroqu, but not foreigners to fighting.

A hiss filled the air as suddenly the Demon Queen rushed forward, slamming her powerful claws into the stomach of one of the Burmecians. The Burmecian spun his lance around and sent it through the Demon Queen's hand. She hissed with rage, digging her claws deeper into the Burmecian's stomach, but two other Burmecians dashed forward and slammed their lances into her legs. Hissing bitterly, the Demon Queen removed her claws from the Burmecian's stomach. The Burmecian crumpled to his knees, and DemChi watched as another Burmecian helped him up and handed him a bottle. When the injured Burmecian drank the bottle's contents, the wound in his stomach sparkled and began to close.

Julius let out a deadly snarl as he dashed forward, claws shining. He leapt forward, claws ready to strike, but soon found out that these Burmecians were no DemChi. The Burmecian with the sword kicked outward with his powerful, clawed feet, sending Julius sprawling backward and into the sands. The same Burmecian charged up his sword, and it became a white color. When Julius, who was quick to recover from the kick, dashed forward, his arm met the magically charged sword, and soon the child was back in the sands, howling with pain. DemChi couldn't help but grin wickedly, happy to see Julius hurting.

The Demon Queen let out another hiss, weaker but still angry. She staggered to her feet and dashed forward, claws ready. To her surprise, four Burmecians dashed to meet her, attacking her with lances. The Demon Queen knocked one lance away, and managed to side step another, but the other two lances slammed into her right leg. She crumpled to the ground, hissing madly. Julius snarled angrily, leaping to his feet.

"Get away from her, monsters!" Julius roared in the human language.

"Monsters, eh?" the hazel-eyed Burmecian spat, pointing his sword at Julius. "You're the monster, hanging around with demon and not killing her for the sake of your people."

"She's my mother!" Julius roared.

A smirk tugged at the hazel-eyed Burmecian's lips as he muttered, "Even better. No one likes the hybrids."

Suddenly the Burmecian rushed forward, sword brimming with white energy. Julius ran out of the way, only to find the sword slamming into his left thigh, knocking him to the ground. The child hissed angrily, kicked at the Burmecian who only sidestepped the attack with ease. DemChi watched with excitement, happy to see Julius actually being hurt. It was a rare sight and a rare thing for Julius, who looked enraged and scared at the same time.

"You look a lot like a human," the hazel-eyed Burmecian commented, aiming his sword at Julius' throat. "You would've fit in well with society, and no one would've known."

"Mortals suck," Julius spat.

"Oh really? You're part mortal," the hazel-eyed Burmecian spat, his sword brimming with white energy. Even as he spoke, the Demon Queen was hissing with pain. "Part demon, part human. You have many strengths, and you choose to hang around with these hell spawns."

"Don't talk about my mother like that!" Julius roared, preparing his legs to kick.

The hazel-eyed Burmecian slammed his foot into Julius', stopping the hybrid in mid-kick. The Burmecian watched him coldly, while his friends continued to attack the Demon Queen. Julius stared angrily at the hazel-eyed Burmecian.

"Your mother is a hell spawn, hear me? She's nothing but trouble to this world... And so are you," the hazel-eyed Burmecian spat. "You could've fit in fine to society, but you choose this type of existence and for that you have to pay."

The Burmecian spun his sword around quickly and slammed it against Julius' head. The hybrid let out a weak hiss before slipping unconscious. DemChi blinked with surprise. A scream of uttermost death then startled him into jerking his head in the direction of the Demon Queen. He couldn't believe what he saw.

There was no Demon Queen. There was nothing left but eerie red demonic energy that was slowly floating into the ground. The four Burmecians were looking around, clearly looking for another demon. Curious -- and perhaps foolish -- DemChi rose to his feet. Immediately his movement caught the eyes of the five Burmecians. Soon, all eyes were on him, and not anything else. The hazel-eyed Burmecians eyes narrowed while he looked quite disgusted.

"Not another one," he spat.

"I no like Julius," DemChi growled in the demon tongue, the only one he knew.

"Is he threatening me?" the hazel-eyed Burmecian asked, taking up his sword.

"Oh, calm down, Mores," a black-haired Burmecian, older than the others, spat. "He wasn't threatening you. Listen to his tone. He was arguing with you."

"Oh? Just the same as the other then," Mores spat, looking at DemChi with uttermost hate. "Do you act like the demons too?"

"No. Hate me," DemChi growled, shaking his head.

"Do you understand?" the older Burmecian asked, leaning against his lance.

"Yes!" DemChi snapped, nodding his head. He was sick of the questions.

"Understand? But he doesn't speak," Mores growled.

"Yes, he does. He speaks demon. Tell me, fellow, was that Demon Queen your mother?" the older Burmecian asked.

DemChi nodded, but didn't speak; he could tell it angered Mores. It wasn't that he exactly cared about angering Mores; it was that he didn't want to lose his head, like Julius had risked.

"Skinny fellow, though," the older Burmecian said before Mores could say anything. "Did she feed you? Clearly she fed the other."

DemChi shook his head, clearly startling every Burmecian there, except the older one. He merely nodded.

"Right then. Your wounds and scars. Caused by the Demon Queen?"

DemChi shook his head, surprising the Burmecians once more. Even the older Burmecian looked surprised.

"The little brat, then?" the older one asked.

DemChi couldn't help but grin at what the Burmecian had called Julius. He remembered to nod, however.

"What's he happy about?" Mores asked.

"I'm not sure. It's obvious he has no one who cares for him, and he's grinning regardless," the older one said. "Well, no bother. Enough meandering about will put him out of his misery in some way."

"Meandering?" DemChi croaked out, not recognizing the word. He spoke the word to the best of his ability, being he didn't speak the human language often, if at all.

"Hmmm? Meandering?" the older one started, hearing DemChi. He looked over at the child and saw his confusion. "What about the word, kid?"

"Meandering...? What... Meandering...?" DemChi croaked out weakly.

"Oh, the definition? It's simple, kid. Meander can mean to wander in a random, unset path, or a journey or winding of such," the older Burmecian explained, shrugging lightly.

"Let's go," Mores spat, staring wearily at DemChi. "We've got more demons to exterminate."

The other three Burmecians, besides the older one, nodded in agreement. Mores and those three turned around and headed off toward the Doorian Coast. The older Burmecian, however, stared at DemChi for quite some time, watching as the child seemed to think over something. He then turned around and headed off after his companions, leaving Julius' fallen form and DemChi's frail one behind.

Meander... Meander... What was it about that word that DemChi found comfort in? As the ten-year-old staggered to his feet, still thinking, he thought over the word's meaning. He lifted his gaze and looked around the desert, seeing the five Burmecians walk away in the distance. He looked behind him, and saw the Dari Tribe a few miles away. He then turned his gaze away from the desert and away, to a land he did not know. He could see trees in the distance, far away. They seemed like a strange paradise, like a place he would want to head. It seemed comforting, unlike the hot, unforgiving desert.

DemChi began a slow walk toward the trees, still thinking over the word Meander. It meant to wander on a random, unset path... He walked no unset paths. But something still seemed similar between himself and the word... He continued to think it over, even as he began to walk faster when walking became easier.

Then it hit him. To wander a random, unset path was something he did not specifically did. It was his moods, his very emotions that wandered a random, unset path. He went from happy, to hyper, to angry, to sad, to tired, in a strange pattern. No one else had this strange, random emotion problem. No one DemChi knew had this problem.

Meander... To wander a random, unset path... Meander...

Meander! Name. DemChi knew what a name was. He didn't have a name. He knew, just by watching the Dari, that names were important. How could he expect to be accepted by that tree paradise if he had no name to call himself by?

Meander... That was it! Suddenly DemChi smiled triumphantly, his thinking done. He knew how he was related to the word meander. Well, why couldn't he specifically be Meander? Who was there to tell him otherwise? His mother had never named him. Freak, the name Julius gave him, was not a good name. Why not Meander?

DemChi continued to smile, satisfied. There was no one to disagree, no one to care. He knew who he was now, at least in name. He was Meander. And now, he felt, it was off to that paradise. He was on his own...

And DemChi, now Meander, knew where he was going to go...

-- In this world, everyone seems to share a common flaw, there in some way or another. Only a few rare people don't have this flaw, and the rest of the world hates these people anyway, so it doesn't matter that they are unique and strong in a good way. This common flaw is seen everyday, in the way people ask for advice, for help, and then complain when no one else knows what to do either. Only a few people will go forward and be able to do everything perfectly. What is this common flaw? It's not being able to take matters into your own hands. The few rare people who can do this did it to survive something, to make it through life without dying or going insane. These few rare people are a hell of a lot stronger than everyone else is; that's why everyone hates them. And, best of all, I get to join the rare club. I get to be hated. How lovely.

-- Amarant --

Year 1787

It was nearly official. Treno had pretty much gotten rid of its middle class. Anyone who lived in the city for years had long noted how poor the middle class was becoming. Anyone visiting the city noted how there was a rich city, and a poor city, but nothing in between to help combine the cities into one. The poor noticed how they grew in numbers. The rich didn't notice anything except that they wanted fewer taxes, thus bringing more taxes onto the poor (though that didn't matter to them).

Anyone who was poor couldn't afford much of anything. They owned inns and shops that had ridiculous prices that they needed to try and survive. They stole food. They lived in run-down shacks that collapsed during the winter snows or spring rains. Gangs were created and violence came along. Meanwhile, in the rich, grand mansions were built. Spectacular blacksmiths made profits, as did auctioneers. Prices were high, but they could afford it no problem. Guards hired for thousands of Gil protected them, and kept them away from the "filthy poor".

Thus, Salamander's life had reached an all-out low. It had been that way for two full years. Money? There was none. House? If you want to call their one-room shack a house, then go ahead. Food? The few scraps they stole, and the beer his father stole. Love? Forget it. Happiness? None whatsoever. Monk lessons? None of those either. Salamander had long been kicked out for his violent ways. Therefore, he was always stuck in Treno, normally at home, with his wreck-of-a-family.

"You never work! All you do is drink! Don't you see that we are starving here because you can't bother to do anything?" Salamander's mother was screaming that afternoon.

"What about you? Always whining and wailing. There are jobs for women around here," Salamander's father blurted out, his breath once again smelling of alcohol.

"In _this_ city? Are you kidding? Women will never get a job here, particularly poor women! YOU have to go out and work!" Salamander's mother screamed.

Salamander sighed heavily, sitting in a corner of the small shack he refused to call home. The thirteen-year-old was staring at the ceiling, miserably making out ugly patterns in the planks of the wood. His parents' screaming got louder and louder, but Salamander was near oblivious to it. Outside, he could hear angry muttering. Groaning, and knowing the worst was to come, he rose to his feet.

"Where are you going, young man?" Salamander's mother asked angrily. "You're just as bad as--"

"Shaddup, Mom," Salamander spat angrily, heading toward the door. "You too, Dad. The neighbors are pissed."

"Don't talk to your parents like that!" Salamander's father roared.

"I can talk to you in any bloody way I want," Salamander spat, dark eyes cold. "Heaven knows you talk to each other and I in any way you wish, so I can too."

With that, Salamander tackled open the door to his house. He was met with angry neighbors, who he simply sidestepped. He ignored the curses and questions thrown at him as he began to slowly walk down the street, staring coldly at the filthy ground that the poor called their streets. He shook his head, continuing his steady walk. The smell of smoke came to him, but he ignored it. He heard more shouting, more curses, and even the sounds of a fight. Ignorance was Salamander's reply. He had known this would happen. It happened every single time that Salamander's parents began to argue. A gang would come and burn the house down, and he and his parents would be homeless until they managed to get enough wood to build another meager shack.

Salamander was sick of it. He was sick of his parents' constant bickering, and for years his father's constant drinking had angered him. The rich of the town irked him, particularly their ignorance, and the gangs of the poor enraged him, particularly their selfishness. The oblivious tourists to the messed up city of Treno especially angered Salamander, what with the way the tourists didn't notice how much the poor needed help. And finally, in general, Treno angered him. He was sick of his town. He was sick of all that was within it, and all that defined it.

His walk had led him to the streets of the rich. The lovely paved roads were hard yet secure against Salamander's ruined boots. Yet seeing the well-maintained roads only worsened Salamander's mood, and made him hate the town even more. He continued walking, staring at his feet, his dark eyes sullen, though they were partially hidden by his out-of-control red hair.

"Look! It's a slimebag!"

Salamander's fist swung out and clocked the snobby rich kid in the face, sending the child flying into a bush. The child began a fit of fake crying as he ran away, but Salamander simply moved on. He felt strangely better, particularly since the child would have a lovely black eye, and probably had a bloody nose. It felt even better since the child deserved it. Salamander recognized the kid's voice, and he knew the child was infamous for beating up the poor.

Behind him, Salamander heard angry voices, and angry footsteps. He began to run, knowing that a nice mob of guards was charging forward to arrest him for harming a child. It would not, of course, matter if Salamander had hit another poor kid. It had only mattered that he had attacked a rich kid, and had committed one of the most horrid crimes in Treno. You could steal something and not get in trouble, as long as you stole from the poor. You could murder the poor and get away with it.

But if you dared even punch one of the rich nobles, or their kids, you were in hot water.

Continuing his run, Salamander easily out-paced the group of guards. He was a massive child, but very fast regardless, and it wasn't long before he had ran up the flight of stairs and arrived upon the Treno Gates. Salamander came to a stop, staring at the gates quietly.

He had considered many times that leaving Treno would be best. Yet before he could leave Treno, he had always been stopped, whether by guards or his own family. Yet now, there was no one. Punching the rich kid had attracted most of the guards in the entire city, and now the guards keeping anyone from leaving without permission had headed off. Salamander could hear the guards approaching, though they were long way off. Now was his chance.

A chance. For the first time Salamander had a chance to actually leave the city and start a new life. He could leave the stupid city and actually go out and enjoy himself. No parents to bug him, no rich to tease him, no guards to attempt to arrest him. Just he and the wilderness. It seemed like a dream had just been handed to him by God.

Salamander took a deep breath, looking behind his shoulder. No one was watching, though the sounds of the guards were becoming louder. Salamander looked back at the gates. He then rammed them with his bulky body. The gates shuddered, but held. Ramming into them again, Salamander used all his strength in one powerful ram. The gates held again, but one last body slam made him open. Salamander shoved them open and ran through, dashing forward. He soon felt grass against his feet, but that didn't stop him from running as fast as he could. Behind him, the sounds of the guards were becoming fainter. Treno was becoming farther and farther away.

He kept on running, even minutes after leaving Treno. He kept his gaze ahead of him, seeing the ocean where he could not see the mountains. That was his destination. The ocean nearby was his goal. Let Treno be behind him. Let all those people miss him or otherwise.

This was his life now. This was his own life story. And it felt great.

It felt great to be on his own...

-------- That's right, I had this update for months and had forgotten! I tortured you! Hahahaha! But yeah, don't expect any more for a while, and I'm SERIOUS this time.

This story is copyright to me. Final Fantasy IX is copyright to Square-Enix.


End file.
